


Paradox

by Cchambers



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Murder, PTSD, backstories pete won't give us, wes is alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 04:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10267865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cchambers/pseuds/Cchambers
Summary: Who killed Emma Jane?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first go at a multichapter so let's see if it works

**“Do you think she’s dead?”**

“I don’t know.”

A little girl stared back from the TV screen, her green eyes bright and youthful, and it was almost as if she wasn’t real, a picture of a beautiful child someone had sketched. She hugged a teddy bear to her chest, and her smile was crooked, a few baby teeth missing, but it didn’t stop her from beaming, the grin covering most of her small face. Her light brown hair was in messy pigtails, and her dress had grass stains at the hem. She was an all American child, the poster child all parents yearned for.

But, the only poster she’d be on now was a milk carton.

Michaela turned to Asher, who was sprawled in her bed, his shirt discarded to the side. He still wore his boxers, and was fiddling with her hand; she recoiled, listening attentively to the news anchor that stood outside a picture perfect house.

“This is the home of Emma Lawrence, who was reported missing a mere six hours ago.” All hope had been drained from the woman’s voice, as if she was already prepared to report a death. “Emma is seven years old, is 4’2, and has brown hair and green eyes,” she went on, eyes darting in front of her as she read from a key card. “She’s described as being an incredibly outgoing and trusting child.”

Trust is what got people killed, most of the time. It was a deadly path, a seemingly harmful hand pulling you out of the water only to push you back in. It was someone you knew and loved hugging you as they stabbed you in the back.

“Earth to Michaela,” Asher waved a hand in front of her face, sitting back down when Michaela blinked, snapping herself back into her bedroom. He smirked, jokingly raising his arm to reveal a toned bicep, “Let’s keep our mind off possibly dead little girls and get back to what I came here to do, shall we?” He inched closer across the bed, closing the space between them as his lips hovered over Michaela’s face.

Michaela rolled out from underneath him, rubbing the wrinkles out of her camisole as she stood beside the bed. “I’m not in the mood, not anymore.” She glanced to the growing pile of school materials and textbooks on her vanity. “I have to study.”

Asher sat up, leaning forward, confusion etched on his face. “What's gotten into you?” he asked, “You haven’t wanted to for a while, which is weird, considering the only reason I’m here right now is because you like doing me.” He gasped dramatically, grinning, “Is Michaela Pratt afraid of falling for me because of my amazing personality and charm?”

Michaela couldn’t hold her laughter, throwing her head back. She never thought she’d find herself talking to Asher, let alone sleeping with him. 

The first time was a drunken mistake when Caleb broke her heart, and what Asher lacked in personality and beliefs, he made up for in sex. He was an easy form of relaxation, something she craved since the day she walked into Annalise’s class.

“I will never fall for you,” Michaela said meaningfully. Someone actually worth her time would come along, and she’d be there with open arms.  “And it’s not that.” She collapsed back onto the bed beside Asher, the wheels in her head turning. 

She stared over at him, “It's nothing.”

It was a lie. She had a feeling something bad was going to happen. It loomed over her like a dark cloud, following her every move, like a tiger stalking its prey.

Emma was still smiling on the screen, videos and pictures of her broadcasted and put on display like paintings in a museum. In the background of the news anchor, a couple was crying, accepting condolences from strangers and the man shielded the woman whenever a reporter approached them.

Asher pointed to the television, eyes drifting from it to Michaela. “You okay?”

Michaela nodded, "I'm fine."

-

_ Who Killed Emma Jane? _

There was various wordings of the same question were the headlines of every Philadelphia paper, and the picture plastered on the news was on every front page, above the same articles over and over again. The only new ones were a sickening shot of two little feet sticking out from under a white sheet of a dusty oriental rug, and the coroner’s team and a troop of police officers at the scene of the crime.

“ _ Keep your children safe! _ ” __ Warned a tabloid, and an obviously photoshopped picture of Emma Lawrence with x’s over her eyes was at the center of other lies, “ _ Child killer roams the streets of Philly _ !”

Michaela chugged another sip of her latte, seeming to be somewhere else as she stood at the newsstand. Around her, Middleton was alive, students rushing to classes and gossiping in the courtyard. The sun shone, a cool September breeze filling the air.

“It’s terrible,” Laurel shook her head in dismay as she handed the cashier a dollar and grabbed of copy of the paper to shove into her purse, “whoever did this must have no morals.”

Connor rolled his eyes, “Oh, so us?” He gulped down what was left of his black coffee, eyebrows furrowed, “Or are we considered more morally grey, stuck in a limbo between right and wrong?”

Michaela lead the trio as they walked across campus towards Annalise’s house, “More like blackmailed.”

The idea of where Michaela morally hung over her head everyday she served Annalise, and more lies began to pile up, and with every lie, so did the body count. While Sinclair’s blood still stained their heads, Wes was now back from New York after days of being interviewed about the death of Wallace Mahoney, or at least that’s what Laurel told Michaela.

“We’re being blackmailed because of Wes,” Connor seemed to have been reading Michaela’s mind, scowling and ignoring Laurel’s remarks. “It’s all about her baby, the son she never had, and we’re just the hounds holding her down.” Connor was wrong.

No, it wasn’t Wes holding them down- it was Annalise. She stood over them with watching eyes, Bonnie and Frank at her side. With great pleasure, she’d yank her chain to choke them, then release.  Just when they thought they could breathe, she’d yank it once more.

She was the hunter and they were her hounds.

Sobs echoed throughout the Keating House, and the walls vibrated with an atmosphere of suffocating sadness. 

The couple Michaela saw on the news was sitting on the couch. The woman was crying, her head buried in her hands. The man, presumably her husband, was hushing her with unconvincing words of comfort, and, to no avail, she kept wailing, in agony. Loudly, desperately, as if no one was hearing her scream.

“I didn’t kill my baby! I didn’t kill my baby! I didn’t kill my baby!” This seemed to be the woman’s mantra, or the only coherent thing she was screaming to the group huddled around her like a pack of wolves.

Michaela and Connor stood in the doorway while Laurel situated herself beside Wes, sending a cold glare in Frank’s direction. Annalise was in the center, her heels clicking as she paced, her hawk eyes boring into the woman. Bonnie was scribbling down notes in her seat and Frank was in the corner of the room, hidden from the rest and thrown out of the circle.

Annalise raised a hand, “Stop.” Her voice was stern, almost cool, while her face was expressionless.

The woman’s head perked and she blinked, mascara tears running down her cheeks. “What?” she asked hoarsely, and like a balloon being poked with a pin, the bubble she had been trapped in popped suddenly. Not everyone was immune to Annalise’s no nonsense attitude and harsh ways; but it was how she won, how the queen kept her throne.

“Stop crying,” Annalise ordered, her pen waving in her hands as she walked, “Or, if you’re going to cry, don’t be so dramatic. The jury will think it’s an act.”

_ We’re defending them? _

Everyone had theories of who killed the child, but the Lawrence’s seemed to be the most popular, accused of killing their daughter for various reasons: insurance money, abuse turned deadly, sexual assault, or just for the sheer act of getting rid of her.

The man turned to Annalise as he pulled his wife closer to him, burying her head in his chest, and he rubbed circles on her back. “Our Emma was just found dead,” his voice was raw, and he was holding back tears himself, “have you no decency?”

“No,” Annalise said matter-of-factly, “that’s why you hired me.”

She whirled on her heels to face her students and associates, gesturing to the couple. “Georgia and Harry Lawrence have just been named as the top person of interests in the murder of their daughter, Emma Lawrence. It hasn’t been revealed to the public yet, but it’ll be on every news channel later tonight. They’re our newest and top priority, understand?”

Everyone in the room nodded, but Michaela saw all of the color drain from Connor’s face in the corner of her eye, and his jaw clenched tightly. His eyes were glued to Harry Lawrence, and he was absorbed in his thoughts.

“You okay?” Michaela whispered, and he shuddered, shaking his head.

“It’s nothing,” Connor replied, and a wall seemed to surround him, closing Michaela off. She didn’t have time to worry about him, not now.

“Tell us about yourselves,” Annalise asked, eyes searching Georgia and Harry.

Georgia sniffled, wiping dried tears from her cheeks, and a fake, forced smile was plastered on her face like a mask. “I’m a stay at home mom,” she paused, fiddling with her hands, looking down at the ground. “Emma Jane, she was…she was my everything.” Georgia was visibly younger than her husband, with a lesser amount of wrinkles and no sign of graying hair.

Harry was intimidating, putting up a front against Annalise; he gave off a vibe that sent shivers down her spine. “I’m a professor,” he said, “At a boy’s boarding school, Birchwood Academy. Actually, one of my former students is here right now.”

Everyone stared at Asher, who crossed his arms defensively, “I went to Hillcrest.”

Harry was looking in the other direction, “Hello, Connor.”

Connor was as still as a statue, his gaze unwavering as the older man’s eyes pierced into him. “It’s good to see you again.”

The room went quiet, and the dark cloud Michaela feared returned. Everyone was watching the awkward interaction, not noticing as Georgia returned to her tears.

Harry smiled knowingly, “Indeed.”

“Well,” Annalise smashed the tension with a hammer, shaking Harry’s hand as he ushered a hysterical Georgia towards the door. “Come back here tomorrow morning.”

The door slammed and Michaela let herself breathe again as she sunk back against the couch.

“To the rest of you, get to work.” Annalise nodded her head in the direction of the case files set on the coffee table before she retreated to her office, Wes following like a little pup.

“Ugh,” Asher groaned as he picked up one of the files, skimming the pages. Michaela tried to ignore the fact that his thigh was touching hers. “It’s not fair he doesn’t have to work on the case.”

“When you witness a murder,” said Laurel, eyes darting across the room to Annalise’s office doors, “You can get out of it, too.”

_ Murder _ .

The feeling was back at full force, and, once again, Michaela was the only one who felt it. She was alone, and unless she said something, she'd stay that way.

_ Something bad is going to happen,  _ said a voice in Michaela’s head,  _ Something bad you won’t be able to stop. _

-

_He was dying._   
  
_Michaela's scream was louder than the gunshot._   
  
_He didn't even remember falling to the ground until he felt the rug underneath him._   
  
_Laurel was yelling to keep everyone calm and Michaela was crying and Connor couldn't get his thoughts together and he couldn't breathe he couldn't-_   
  
_He was dying._   
  
_He felt cold hands on him but he couldn't tell where, and they were all on the ground with him._   
  
_Laurel and Wes were speaking in whispers and Michaela was trying to calm him down._   
  
_"It's okay," she was lying, he could tell when she was lying- her voice was shaking and he didn't want her to cry, he didn't want her worrying. Michaela always worried and it was useless. "It's okay, Connor, you're gonna be okay."_   
  
_The hands that weren't Michaela's were pressing down harder. "There's too much blood," Wes was practically screaming- or maybe he wasn't, it seemed as if everyone was screaming. "It's too much blood."_   
  
_He was dying._   
  
_The door slammed and Annalise- no, Bonnie- was running in, holding a gun. A gun. No. It wasn't Bonnie. Was it a child? Small hands. Pale face. Bonnie. Child. Bonnie. Child._   
  
_Was it a man?_   
  
_He was shot and he was dying._   
  
_"Stay," Michaela sobbed, "stay with us, Connor."_   
  
_The world was spinning and he wanted Oliver, he wanted to be at home and he wanted to calm down and he wanted to live._   
  
_He closed his eyes._

_ Connor was dying.  _


End file.
